Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (4 page)

W
E’VE BEEN RIDING
for an hour or so. It’s been a quiet ride, and I’ve felt Greer’s eyes on me a number of times, but he doesn’t speak, and neither do I. We’re caught up in our own musings, I suppose. I can’t help but wonder what’s got him all introspective. Usually he talks my head off. I always joke that he’s the girl in our relationship. The funny thing is I wouldn’t change a thing about him.

The memory of him with our dying cow pulls me back into my head.

“I don’t understand. Why would you shoot your own animal?” A sniffling Greer asked.

For the fifth time at least, I told him, “’Cause, Greer, if we don’t, she has to suffer. Be in pain until she dies. And she’s as good as dead anyway.”

He sucked it up, breathed deep, and sat up straight. “You sound like your daddy.”

“Well, ’cause that’s what he told me. You trust my daddy, don’t cha?”

“I guess.”

I looked out over the wide-open field and thought about all the life I’d seen come and go over the years. Daddy told me once ranching ain’t for the faint of heart. He had that right. I still hated loss though. And I felt his loss the hardest. I mean, he didn’t die. But he may as well have. No spirit. That’s what we’d say if he were a horse. He’s got no spirit, no mettle. He had it before. Before what? I don’t know exactly. I just know it had something to do with my momma. It’d been a few years since he left, and he still hadn’t bounced back.

“Would you feel better if we slept out here with her? We’re not gonna … do it till morning. If she even makes it through the night.”

“Yeah, can we?”

“Yeah, I’ll go up and get some supplies. You OK here by yourself?”

He stiffened and sat up even taller. “I’m not a little girl, Denver.”

“You’re sure acting like one,” I joked.

“You should try it sometime.”

“Ouch! That hurt, golden boy.”

“Whatever, chicken butt.”

He may be mad at me a little, but at least he was focused on something else for a minute.

So all those years of being as close as brother and sister, and I suddenly feel drawn to him in another way? It seems unreal, but it is what it is. I had a distinct physical pull to him when I saw him this morning, and parts of me I didn’t even know could feel—felt. And, now that I really think about it, I know it’s life-changing and real because I’ve never felt any of that for his brother. Maybe I’ve always been destined to fall for Greer, and God had kept me from feeling it all at once because we were too young for that kind of friendship. I’ve always loved his personality, his tenderness, his protectiveness, but his easy way and ability to put up with me were probably his most endearing traits.

And so in tune … we’ve
always been so in tune
. Our moms, back when they didn’t hate each other, used to joke that we were twins separated by a womb. Our favorite colors were the same, we liked to do the same things, and our dreams were the same. Our personalities? Not so much. He was Yang to my Yin, and we’ve always complemented each other perfectly.

Do I still feel my crush for his brother? I’d be lying to myself if I said no. I still feel tiny butterflies when I think of him. But the pull toward Greer is much more direct and tangible. I think what I feel for his brother is a childhood crush made up of adoration and hero worship. This with Greer feels more natural yet more … I don’t know,
just more.

Surely that makes me different from my mother. I’m not jumping from one brother to another. Am I?

“Wanna head up the side of the mountain to the creek? Get some water? Take a break?” Greer asks, pulling me from my internal struggle.

“Yeah, OK.”

Greer kicks his black swiftly as he laughs and looks back at me, egging me on.

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me as I spur Liberty into action. The jerk knows I’m riding bareback and that she’s worked up a little sweat. He also knows that neither Liberty nor I like to finish second. I tighten my grip on her with both my hands and my legs and gallop past Greer and Shadow. Looking back, I laugh at his furious expression. I’m in the lead and going really fast, but as I approach the trail that cuts through the trees and leads to the creek, I slow my horse down.

Suddenly, Greer darts past me with a maniacal laugh and jolts Liberty into action. As she bounds forward, I lose my balance, sliding around on her for a second before tumbling off. I manage to right myself into somewhat of a standing position, but then Liberty’s gone from beside me, and I land in a heap on the side of the trail. In mud, of course. I groan and sit up, cussing Greer and Liberty under my breath. I hear Greer calling for me since I’ve rolled to the side of the trail in the tall grass, and he can’t see me. Liberty snorts and ambles back in my direction, snatching patches of grass along the way.

“I’m over here, jerk!” I call out, as I stand up. My bottom stings, and I rub it gingerly, gauging the tenderness. Looking over my shoulder, I see thick, black mud smeared over my shirt. I can feel clumps of it in my hair too. Ugh!

Greer swings off of his horse. “Permission to approach?” he asks with a laugh.

“Only if you want to be walking funny for a week,” I grunt.

“Oh, don’t be mad because I finally beat you at your own game, Denver.”

Outraged, I gasp and spin around. “You knew she’d jump like that when you rushed past us, and you knew that I was riding bareback. I’m covered in mud, and now my butt hurts,” I gripe, pouting.

Crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest, he eyes me, and I catch the sparkle of laughter dancing there. “More like your pride hurts. You’ve always been a sore loser. Want me to rub it?”

Tilting my head, I ask innocently, “What, my pride?”

His eyes darken a bit, and his smile becomes lethal as he slowly shakes his head. I bite my lip a little to keep from grinning. He’s definitely flirting with me. I can’t help but think he feels it too. Changing the subject, I ask him, “And what have I lost at anyway? I never lose.” Gathering up Liberty’s reins, I saunter through the grass toward him.

“I’ve beat you at horseshoes three times, pool twice, and Monopoly countless times.” Walking our horses side by side, we continue on the path that will lead us to the creek. I wish it were warm enough to swim so I could get this mud off me.

“I just suck more at horseshoes than you do, and Monopoly doesn’t count. I don’t lose. I quit,” I sneer.

“Same difference.”

“Bullshit. I just can’t sit still long enough to beat you. And one of those games of pool doesn’t count either because you spiked my Dr. Pepper with extra Wild Turkey.”

“Oh, shit!” He slaps his knees with his reins as he remembers. “That was so funny. You thought we had the same amount, and you wouldn’t dare say a word. You didn’t want me to out-drink you. God, your competitive nature really works in my favor sometimes,” he teases, chuckling.

I can’t help but laugh with him. I’m glad he’s back. He was way too quiet. His incessant chatter sheds light in the dark corners of my mind, and I love that about him.

He continues to chat me up while we head up the mountain a little further, rubbing it in my face about the one geometry test he outscored me on as well.

When we reach the clearing that opens up alongside the creek, we walk our horses over to the water and let them get their fill before taking off the tack and letting them graze freely.

Spinning around from the horses, I head back toward the creek. I hear him jog up behind me, but I’m too focused on getting this mud off of me to pay him any attention. The mud is thick and heavy, forcing the material to cling to my back. Untucking my shirt, I start at the bottom snap and pull, shrugging it off in seconds and tossing it aside. Kneeling down in the grass, I flip my hair over and into the creek, scrubbing the ends vigorously until all the clumps dissipate. When I toss my hair back, the freezing cold water slaps my bare back and I screech. Giggling, I look over at Greer to find him paused mid-bend and mouth agape.

“What?” I ask breathily, his look causing me to be hyperaware of the fact that I’m not wearing a shirt.
Oh my God!
My nipples harden under his gaze.
Well, that’s embarrassing.
I fight the urge to cross my arms over them. Dead giveaway!

He shakes his head at me. “You took your shirt off,” he says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, you’ve seen me in less.” I shrug, pretending nonchalance. “This is just like my bikini.” Except it’s not. It’s thin and lacy, and why have I never noticed whether or not it’s see-through? “I used to run shirtless around you all the time.” His eyes dive down to my breasts, back to my eyes, back to breasts. I roll my eyes and exhale loudly. “Just toss me your shirt.”

He looks at me like I’ve spoken in a foreign language. “Huh?”

“Toss me your freaking shirt, Greer. It’s your fault mine’s covered in mud. You can go shirtless. I promise not to ogle your chest the way you are mine.” The lie rolls so easily from my tongue.

He rights himself and pulls his shirt over his head by the neck in one fluid motion. Tossing it, he hits me right in the face with it before I can intercept it. I don’t even have to inhale deeply for his scent to sink into me this time—it’s woodsy and fiery with a trace of fabric softener, and it’s divine. I’m being pulled taut again, deep inside. “Thanks,” I mutter, quickly donning his shirt.

Bending down again, he scoops water into his cupped palm and sips. When he stands, he puts his hands on his hips and stares ahead, contemplative again. He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his golden blond curls. He looks nothing like the rest of his family. Behaves nothing like them either. They totally do not get his obsession with horses and cattle. Fortunately, he lives next to us and has been able to learn ranching and rodeo. His family had inherited all that land, but it is all for show. Greer’s daddy is a powerful judge, his momma is what our smallish town would call a socialite, and his older brother wants to follow in his father’s footsteps. Greer’s goal is to someday run his own ranch—a calling that ran deep in his blood from earlier generations and couldn’t be denied.

All of a sudden, I wonder what I ever saw in Lawson. His dreams are nothing like mine. I want to run a ranch and have babies. I want to train championship barrel racing horses, and I want a good, strong man to do that alongside me. Greer is perfect for me in every way. He’s my best friend. Who better to spend my life with? It took a jolt for me to see all that so clearly. Hormones … go figure.

Standing up, I move toward him, not really sure what I’ll say or do, but he spins and smiles at me, stopping me in my tracks. I’m caught in his gaze and unable to speak for a minute. He puts me out of my misery. “Hungry? Ms. Juanita made us sandwiches.”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“C’mon.” He motions to his tack. Grabbing his bedroll, he unrolls it to expose our hidden lunch. Handing it to me, he turns to find some sunshine and spreads the blanket across the grass. I just watch as the sun dances across his golden hair and skin. I’ve always joked and called him “golden boy,” and he hates it every time. But he really is golden … fabulous roper, all-star in every sport he ever played, good grades, all the girls wanted to be with him, and all the guys wanted to be him. But he’s also more than that. He’s kind, generous, and compassionate. And he’s
my
golden boy. I grin wide when I think of his nickname in those terms because he’d get a kick out of that. He sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him, patting the blanket at his side. I cradle the sandwiches to my chest and move to sit beside him.

We eat and chat a little about what we want to do with the summer. Mostly, it’s comprised of working the ranch, training, practicing, and hanging out with each other. I finish before him, since he did most of the talking, and lie down on my back to soak in the sun. The woods is the only place I can be still, and I want to absorb it all. I get lost in the light playing on the leaves for a bit. Closing my eyes, the water streaming over the stones in the creek is a lullaby. The fish splash every now and then. Occasionally, the wind sifts through the leaves on the trees. This is my church, and these sounds conspire to create my hymn.

After a few minutes, Greer stretches out beside me and searches for my hand. Only his hand touches mine, but my whole being tingles. He threads his fingers through mine and runs his thumb over my palm. Something in me twists and splinters, shooting chills all through my body. My breath hitches in my throat because I can’t breathe around the knot that has formed there.

“You feel it too,” he says simply.

I close my eyes tighter, suddenly embarrassed by the fact that I’m not slick. “Yes,” I admit in a whisper.

“Look at me, Denver.”

Turning my head to the side, I open my eyes to find his blue-eyed gaze roaming over me. His eyes find mine, and we just take each other in. I want to say something, but I can’t think of one darn thing that sounds intelligent or even … sexy. Do I even want to be sexy for him?
Yes. Yes, I do.
I see stupid girls flirt with him all the time. I don’t want to be
that
girl, but I do want him to see me as a girl and not just his friend. Ironic, since I’ve spent my whole life telling him
not
to treat me like a girl.